Evening Star Newspaper, June 21, 1931, Page 74

e ¥orLove of the Mike : By Joseph Faus Osmund Was Sure He Could Be a Great Radio Announcer—and He Rose to Fame in an Elevator. Illustrated by Gladys Parker. " “The celebrated Czechoslovakian violin- ist, Monsieur Eryaldendvdon Zouejuy- siackwhoiszche,” as he spoke he bowed his head a trifle. OULD you like to receive I I $10,000 per annum for sev- A eral hour’s work a day? Would you enjoy intimate association with the great- est living orators, actors, musicians, statesmen and crooners? Would you have your picture in the papers and your name renowned throughout the land? “Then enroll in the Superba School of Radio Announcing, and maybe such glorious dreams will come true. The address is Room 10, Floor 36, Commercial Building. The telephone num- ber is Parkview 2495. The tuition rate is rea- sonabie. The instruction is day or night. ‘The golden voice is the voice that pays.’” Mr. Osmund P. Wickfield, young and hand- some elevator starter in the great Commercial Building, took his fascinated gaze off the form letter and directed it toward the early morning throng of office workers, out of which ap- proached Miss Nancy Douglas, a revishing stenographer who stenographed within four of the insulated walls on floor number 27. “Say, Nancy,” he greeted, “I want to ask you a question. Please take time to seriously think before replying.—All in for local to 10!—Nancy, do you think my voice is golden?” “It's soprano,” obligingly replied Nancy, “except when you rend asunder an innocent in- finitive. Then it's ungrammatical,.-too. How- ever, it could alsc be engaging if it would try to engage me as a Partner for an ankling session tonight.” “You are like your school-teaching father,” protested young Mr. Wickfield. “You think grammar is everything. But how about rhetoric? Give rhetoric a chance—I never do.— Express to floors 30 to 40!—And, in conclusion, I can’t get off tonight to dance, anyway—I'm taking my first lesson in radio announcing. “Okeh by me,” coolly okehed Miss Nancy Douglas. Sappy days are here again! But if you learn radio announcing, you will learn correct speech. They're inseparable, like hotsy and totsy, and picnicse and ants.” “Station AEIOU and sometimes W and Y,” grinned her boy friend, “broadcasting a mouth- ful!—Express to 20 to 30! All in!” The all included his all yclept Nancy, and a second later her car shot skyward. ESPITE their occasional tiffs, Miss Nancy Douglas and Mr. Osmund P. Wickfield usually ran a temperature when near one an- other. The only fiy in the ointment was pater- familins Douglas, a learned high school peda- gogue, who thought desecration of the King's English was an unhappy medium somewhere between an ax murder and sitting for “The Star Spangled Banner.” This was Osmund’s weakness, but he had hopes of overcoming it; and that night when he ascended to Floor 36 these beat high in his hope chest. In response to his tap on door 10, that aperture was opened by a rotund male individual of middle age, who with an expansive smile introduced himself as Prof. Ezekiel Jellico, chief of the one-man faculty stafi of the Superba School of Radio Announcing. “The rewards for the truly ambitious are unlimited,” said the professor, after he had learned his prospective student had s bank account and a voice that could be made golden for a goodly fraction of it. ‘“Consider, for instance, Graham McNamee. What was he ten yeers ago, Mr. Wickfield?” Mr. Wickfleld did nct know, and the .other did not pause to tell. “Yes, consider Graham McNamee,” he con- tinued. “And think of Ford Barnes. Think twice of FPord Barnes. Now think of yourself, Mr. Wickfield. Think of your future! Well, I will test your ecophonesis qualities. “Say, ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience, at this time we take great pleasure in offering a studio version of Cavara- dossi’s labyrinthine role in Puccini’s transcen- dent “Tosca”—le sacre printemps. Cavara- dossi, mesdames and messieurs!’ ” _“The embryonic McNamee hurdied the mono and bisyllabled words, but tripped over the others, and quite failed to distinguish himself. “You will have to burn the midnight electricity,” opined Prof. Ezekiel Jellico, “and study long and carefully. Your gauche mis- pronouncements would be anathema in the auditory apparatus of cosmopolite. Your voice itself is pleasing, and would, I am sure, kilocycle through the ether with only minor detriment to the stronger radio tubes; but what it woefully lacks is timbre.” “Well,” weakly rejoined Osmund, feeling as humble as a worm with the measles in the dust of a poorhouse in Armenia, “how will I get it?” “In the privacy of your room tonight,” counseled the professor, “recline in.a comfort- able chair and glance at your watch. When it is 8 o'clock start saying: ‘Now is the time for every man to come to the aid of his coun- try. Now is the time for every man to come. Now is the time for every man. Now is the time. Now. “Reverse the order of the sentences, and re- peat. Put pathos in your voice—irony—opti- mism—terror—chagrin. Run the gamut of hu- man emotions, dear Mr. Wickfield. Live! Laugh! Love! Suffer! Die! ‘““The sentences mentioned, I have discovered after indefatigible experimentation, contain the necessary vowels and consonants that when re- peated often and expressively enough will tone up the speaker’s larynx, develcp his diaphragm, leatherize his lungs and in general facilitate & superior locomotion of his phonetics. “But to revert. Glance at your watch again at 9 o'clock, but do not cease talking till 10, Pause then for five minutes, and afterward continue till at least 11. Remember, practice makes perfect—Paderewski himself yet piano- izes four hours a day. “Well, Mr. Wickfield, come again tomorrow evening. I eagerly anticipate seeing the result of your first lesson.” 2 HE result was a black eye, which Prof. Ezekiel Jellico gazed at, horrified. “But the fellow in the next room got two,” elucidated his pupil. “He complained I was talking in his sleep, and finally woke him up. Well, - how does my voice sound now, prcfessor?” The professor sald it sounded rather hoarse, albeit beneath the hoarseness he faintly de- tected a note of virgin timbre. Osmund, en- couraged, assured him it would be a forest soon, and then they took up the next lesson, which was composed of trying to make har- monious the vocal egress of words with more joints than any in “Now is the time,” etc. Osmund groaned, but soon cheered up. After all, he was killing two birds with one groan— radio announcing and Nancy’s father. In his odd moments he practiced his lessons, and the elevator boys considered them odd moments, indeed. They eyed him as though bhe were one of Brazil's best known products. He frankly acknowledged he was talking to an intelligent person—also that he was taking a course in radio announcing. “Then,” divulged Frank Tatum, one of the operators, “you should know a chap who just left my car. See?” he pointed. “We'll, he’s the manager of the local broadcasting station.” Osmund P. Wickfield gazed eagerly from the pointer to the pointee. The latter was & the esthetic-minded ' THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, P. C, m 21, Y951 ° “Say, Nancy,” he said, “Do you think my voice is golden?” “It could be engag- ing,” she replied, “i it would try to em- gage me for ankling session tonight.” little, bald, bespectaclell, plamnly dressed man. “He doesn't look important or impressive enough to be a radio magnate,” said the starter doubtfully. “He looks more like a dealer in second-hand bananas, or something. Well, anyway, if opportunity occurs, Ill try to get in his good graces. If I wring a job out of him that will be my first rung on the ladder of success—and then watch me climb!™ He turned away, and accidentally bumped into a tall man with a red face and shaggy eyebrcws. ‘“Pardon me,” said Osmund, but the tall man said nothing, only hurried, vexed, on his way. ‘With noon came Nancy, bringing with her a healthy appetite and a curicsity as to the latest news. Across an automat table, while she satisfied the former, Osmund satisfied the latter. “I guess you notice,” he concluded modestly, “the change in my voice.” “Yes,” confessed she. “It sounds like a buzz-saw with the croup in a boller factory. Maybe you've been calling hogs in the rain. “I wanted to try half a box,” dourly he re- torted, “but the drug clerk sald they couldn't The result was a black eye, which Prof. Ezekiel Jellico gazed at horrified. “But the fellow in the next room got two,” elucidated his pupil. B . separate the brothers. Honest, Nancy, don% you detect the timbre in my voice?” “Your voice ought to have timbre,” she countered. “It runs through your head. Il trade you half of my spinach for half of your salad.” - “Okeh by me,” returned Osmund, “but keep your spinach. The only way I eat it is to feed it to the cow and then eat the cow. Shave that crack. Well (new paragraph), you'll rue the day you so lightly treated the successor to McNamee's throne. But what are you doing tonight before associating with the pillow of pleasant dreams about Osmund P. Wickfield?” “I imagine,” she prophesied correctly, “IM be sitting in our living room with Osmund him- self—that is, unttl Papa walks in and Osmund, as usual, gets scared and runs out.” HE next afternoon the elevator starter was busy announcing to himself the world series between the Athletics and Cardinals, when the little man with the spectacles came running to an elevator and collided with the tall man with the red face who came rushing out. Scattered were the parcels of the former, and Osmund P. Wickfield, deserting his world series, hastened forward and recovered them, gazing accusingly meanwhile at the tall man— who apologetically continued his way. The little man seemed very grateful, and the elevator starter jubilantly thought: “Now all I have to do is ask for an audition, and a job will be mine.” . that, humanly enough, whenever he with the spectacles he ner at him, and when- man with the red face looked differently at him. It was not long uniil Osmund took his final examination in the Superba School of Radio Announcing. That auspicious evening he stood before the model mike and, while an anxious tutor hearkened, carefully described a fictitious program for a non-existent audience. “Perfect,” said Prof. Esekiel Jellico at the finish. “More than ever am I positive,” ear- nestly he added, “that your name will resound throughout the land—especially if you are fortunate emough to get a job on one of the Nation-wide hook-ups. Here, now, is your diploma, duly attested and signed. Good-by, dear Mr. Wickfield, and the best of luck go with you always.” - Dear Mr. Wickfield accepted the diploma and felicitations, affectionately bade the pro- fessor farewell, and triumphantly departed. into the manager’s office he little man back of the desk. of the desk was the man with Continued on Thirteenth Page